


Things Unspoken

by vgersix



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), But References to Kinky, Crowley Has A Vulva (Good Omens), Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Gentle Dom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Keeping the Glasses On, M/M, POV Aziraphale (Good Omens), Pinned by the Thighs of an Angel, Safe Sane and Consensual, Talking About Our Feelings??? It's More Likely Than You Think, not kinky, softe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-14 01:47:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29660568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vgersix/pseuds/vgersix
Summary: Crowley was finally gonna do it. He was gonna talk about his feelings. Or. Well. That was the plan, anyway.///"Angel," he began. "We've been… ah… doin' this… for a while now, yeah?"Aziraphale had spent millennia honing the skill of decoding Crowley's spoken words into their actual intended meanings. Though it was hardly an exact science, he had eventually found the process almost though maybe not quite as simple a task as translating cuneiform.In this case, he thought he had the gist of it.“Oh,” he said. “You mean the sex?"Crowley sputtered, sitting up suddenly and leaning over to clutch at one knee, overcome with a coughing fit.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 177
Collections: Top Aziraphale Recs





	Things Unspoken

“Hey, angel. You got a minute?” 

He said it in that very cavalier, relaxed way that screamed pretense. 

When Aziraphale turned from his stack of books to face him, Crowley’s shoulders were sunk low, pushed back, both hands jammed into too-small trouser pockets. One leg was ramrod straight beneath him, while the other appeared to have taken a holiday, flung aside into an awkward bend, half-forgotten and barely attached to the other hip joint. Crowley had never quite adjusted to having legs, Aziraphale thought.

“What’s wrong, Crowley?” Aziraphale asked, frowning up at him.

“Whut?” The demon shifted, standing up straight, hands coming out of his pockets to trail through his long, wavy hair. “Nothing wrong. Why’d you think something’s wrong?”

So quickly, it had grown back to almost shoulder-length. Aziraphale often suspected Crowley must be pushing it along with little miracles to make it grow so fast. But now it occurred to him that it really had been almost six months since that day in Tadfield, so maybe that much hair growth in that much time was perfectly normal. He certainly wouldn’t know. His barber visits had always been consistent and habitual. The moment his own curls began to tickle his neck, they were banished in short order.

“Uh,” Crowley shifted uncomfortably again. “Angel?”

“I’m sorry, darling,” Aziraphale pushed away from his desk, the little rubber wheels of the chair squeaking beneath him. “You were saying?”

He’d been calling that demon thinly-veiled nonsense like ’wily serpent’ and ‘favored enemy’ for several centuries now, but for some reason it was his most innocent of endearments that brought the blood to Crowley’s cheeks every time without fail. Aziraphale liked especially to save up his ’sweethearts’ and ‘mon petit chous*’ to really pack a punch at just the right moment. There were other things he’d like to say, but he held himself in check. After all, there was only so much open love and affection an infernal being could withstand, surely. He never wanted to push Crowley beyond his limits.

Crowley fidgeted, blushing pink while he struggled to find his words again. “Ngk. Ah. Well, angel. I just wanted to, um.” He took a deep breath while staring pointedly at a spot on the floor. “Can we talk?”

“We are talking, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, now growing concerned. “Won’t you sit down?”

He indicated the battered leather couch across from him, inviting Crowley to sit. The tall lanky bundle of anxiety slumped into it with a grateful sigh. Crowley’s bright yellow eyes were still locked on whatever point of interest he’d found on the carpet, and a worried frown was now forming between them. 

_Hmm_. Aziraphale sat up straighter in his chair, watching Crowley closely. “Where are your glasses, my dear?”

“Here,” Crowley said, patting the front of his jacket. “In my pocket.” 

Aziraphale made his voice soft, reassuring. “Would you prefer to put them back on?” 

“N-no,” Crowley shook his head slightly, but his eyes stayed on the carpet. “I wanted to…” He took a breath. “You’re always saying how you like to look me in the eye when we talk about—”

He trailed off, unable to complete his sentence. Aziraphale thought he might have sunk a little deeper into the couch, defeated. 

“It’s all right, Crowley,” Aziraphale said. He rolled his chair forward, closing the distance between them. He reached cautiously toward the lapel of Crowley’s jacket, leaning aside to catch his eye. “May I?” 

Crowley nodded wordlessly, biting down on a trembling lip as Aziraphale’s fingers probed gently inside the lapel pocket to produce the dark glasses. 

Aziraphale unfolded them, carefully opening the silver arms and shields on either side. He turned them in his hands, holding them up to Crowley’s face. The demon sat up, leaning forward and letting Aziraphale slide them slowly over his ears, the cool plastic and steel of their weight settling onto his nose and cheekbones. 

Crowley let out an audible sigh of relief. “Thanks, angel.”

“You never have to fight so hard, Crowley.”

“But,” Crowley sniffed, collecting himself. “You said—”

“I don’t care what I said,” the angel admonished him tenderly, tucking a stray piece of hair behind Crowley’s ear. “My first priority is always your comfort, my dear.”

“Oh,” Crowley said. “Right.”

“Now, then,” Aziraphale leaned in, pressing a kiss to Crowley’s swollen lips. “What was it you wanted to discuss?”

He could tell Crowley's eyes were firmly on him now, safely hidden behind the security blanket of his sunglasses. 

"Angel," he began. "We've been… ah… doin' this… for a while now, yeah?"

Aziraphale had spent millennia honing the skill of decoding Crowley's spoken words into their actual intended meanings. Though it was hardly an exact science, he had eventually found the process almost though maybe not quite as simple a task as translating cuneiform. 

In this case, he thought he had the gist of it. 

“Oh,” he said. “You mean the sex?"

Crowley sputtered, sitting up suddenly and leaning over to clutch at one knee, overcome with a coughing fit. 

"Oh, dear," Aziraphale slapped Crowley on the back, waiting for him to recover. "I'll get you some water; shall I?

"Please, angel," Crowley choked. "Are you trying to discorporate me? Now? After everything?"

Aziraphale snapped his fingers, handing Crowley a glass of cool water with a frown. "Don't even joke about such things, my love. What would we do? They'd surely never let you back up here, after the stunt we pulled."

Crowley took the glass, staring up at Aziraphale with what must have been wide eyes. The bright yellow irises and open pupils could barely be seen through the dark tinted glass, of course, so he couldn’t be sure.

"Crowley?" 

The demon seemed frozen in place, unmoving. 

"What is wrong, my dear? Drink your water. I promise it isn't holy."

"Oh!" Crowley tipped the glass back, gulping the water down. Once it was gone, he set the empty glass aside and scoffed. "Isn't all water you miracle up inherently holy, angel?"

"Well, of course not," Aziraphale said. "I got it from the pitcher in the kitchen, didn't I?"

He scooted his chair closer to Crowley, letting their knees bump together. "Now, what has got you so unsettled?"

"Oh," Crowley said again, looking down. 

Already their legs had mingled together, like interlocking puzzle pieces, one of Aziraphale's thick thighs moving between Crowley's skinny legs made even thinner by the tight jeans he was wearing. The soft brush of Crowley's bony knees on either side of his leg made Aziraphale's heart beat faster; so familiar. How could something they'd only been doing for a relatively short period of time already feel so familiar, so natural?

 _Because you've been dreaming about it forever,_ he thought. _Because he's so dear and so treasured that he might as well be a part of you. The other piece of your soul._

"Angel."

"Yes?" 

Aziraphale leaned forward, his knee pressing gently into Crowley as he left the chair behind. His hands come up over Crowley's shoulders and sank into the backrest of the couch. As was often the case of late, Aziraphale saw no reason to resist the impulse of being drawn into what he could only describe as Crowley’s gravitational pull. No reason to resist any of it, anymore. 

Crowley let out a soft moan, his hands digging into the woolen fabric of Aziraphale's cardigan as his arms coiled around to hug him close. Yes, Aziraphale chuckled inwardly, not at all unlike being pulled into the atmosphere of a lovely, dark and mysterious planet. The air was even better here, he thought, breathing in the spicy scent of Crowley’s cologne. The demon whimpered helplessly as Aziraphale's knee met his sex again, letting out a breathy sigh. 

"Oh, angel,” he hissed. “Yes _ss_.”

Aziraphale sank down to eye level, peering deeply into the opaque glasses. He'd have preferred to see Crowley's eyes right now, but it was enough to know that he was being observed. 

"I see," he said, teasingly. "You thought you'd wear this one today, so I wouldn't notice your arousal?"

"Wh-what?" Crowley squeaked. 

"But do you know how swollen and wet you already are, even through these trousers?"

“I—” Crowley gaped, quickly gathering his composure. "How ludicrous. There is no possible way you could feel that, angel. You're talking nonsense."

"Oh?" Aziraphale pressed his knee between Crowley's legs again, sliding it up and down the length of his cunt. "Are you sure about that?"

"Fuck!" Crowley exclaimed. "Angel!"

Aziraphale grinned, satisfied with having made his point. 

"Well, I might be," Crowley sneered. "But you didn't figure that out through tactile feedback alone!”

"No?" Aziraphale asked, smiling innocently.

"No!" Crowley shouted. "It's fucking obvious!"

"And why is that?"

"Because I'm blessed predictable, apparently! Kiss me, already. You holy idiot!"

Aziraphale giggled into Crowley's open mouth, taking him by the shoulders and pushing him down into the couch cushions so they could both lie comfortably along the length of it. 

"What did you do?" Crowley laughed, pulling away just long enough to take a breath. "Read that in one of your trashy romance novels?"

"Oh, hush; you." Aziraphale kissed him again, thumbing the button open on his jeans. "You liked my trash just fine, when I was reading it aloud to you last week."

Crowley grunted a noncommittal reply as Aziraphale tugged the jeans down over knobby hips. 

“Must you wear them so tight?” He asked, nudging Crowley’s trousers off inch-by-inch just to get them to mid-thigh. 

“Thought you liked me all trussed up and tied down?” Crowley hummed, gazing up at Aziraphale, perfectly at ease. “You were getting pretty creative with those ropes, last time.”

“Oh, beloved.” Aziraphale leaned in to nuzzle the soft skin at Crowley’s throat. “Let’s not pretend that was solely for my benefit.”

Crowley froze again, every muscle constricting under Aziraphale’s weight. He’d stopped breathing.

Aziraphale sat up, looking down at Crowley where he lay unmoving on the couch cushions. “Crowley?” He frowned. “What’s the matter?”

“N-nothing, angel.” He shook his head like he was shaking off a bad dream. “Sssorry. Where were we?” Crowley reached for the hem of his shirt, exposing his belly, and pressed his hips upwards, straining against Aziraphale’s thighs where they pinned him down. 

One glance at the state of Crowley’s thin silky underwear confirmed Aziraphale’s suspicions about the demon’s arousal, but he ignored that for the moment.

“Stop it,” he said, quiet but firm. “What is wrong, Crowley?”

“Huh?” Crowley was in the process of rucking up his shirt, getting ready to pull it and the jacket over his head in one easy motion. He stopped halfway, his elbows sticking out a bit comically, hard pink nipples peeking from beneath the bundle of soft grey cotton. “What do you mean, angel?”

“You said you wanted to talk to me about something.”

Crowley let out an uneasy laugh. “Yeah, and then you started rubbing me up and peelin’ my clothes off. I think we got a little sidetracked.”

“We did,” Aziraphale said, sitting back on his knees and shifting toward the other end of the couch. “That’s my fault. I’m sorry, Crowley. What was it you wanted to tell me?”

The demon lay motionless for a beat, trousers halfway down and shirt halfway up, before bursting into laughter. “Are you fucking kidding me?” He asked. “I’m half naked, all warmed up, and _now_ you want to talk?”

“I thought it could wait,” Aziraphale replied. “You put your glasses back on, and you seemed alright. But you keep shutting down, Crowley, and I don’t know why. It’s clear something is troubling you.” 

“It _can_ wait,” Crowley growled, tugging the shirt and jacket over his head and tossing them carelessly onto the floor. He kicked and squirmed the rest of the way out of his jeans and crawled across the couch, pawing at Aziraphale as he leaned in to kiss him. 

“Crowley!” Aziraphale caught his face in his hands, cupping one sharp, angular cheek in each palm. “No.”

Crowley’s mouth twisted in pain, and he sank into Aziraphale’s lap, hiding his face in his hair. “M’sorry, angel.” 

Aziraphale stroked Crowley’s naked back, making him shiver. “It’s all right, my love. Tell me.”

Crowley sniffed. “When you say things like that.”

“Like what?”

“Those things you call me.”

“Call you?” Aziraphale thought for a moment. “My little pet names, you mean?”

Crowley nodded. 

“The ‘dear boys’ and ‘darlings’ and what not?”

“Yeh,” Crowley managed to say.

“But Crowley,” Aziraphale suddenly felt sick. “I’ve been calling you all sorts for… ages now. Has it always bothered you?”

Crowley curled into an even tighter ball, if such a thing were possible, hugging his knees and burying his face in the angel’s lap. “It’s not a bother, angel,” he said. “I like it— It’s just… Do you mean it, really?”

Aziraphale frowned, not comprehending. “Mean what?”

“Be—” Crowley flinched, obviously struggling to get the words out. “Beloved?” He sucked in a gasping breath, trembling. “Am I really?”

_Oh. Oh, no._

It was Aziraphale’s turn to find himself frozen in place, now. He blinked, trying to assemble an appropriate response. He was going to have to choose his next words very carefully. It was clearly a soft spot for Crowley, and the last thing they needed in this moment was further miscommunication.

“Crowley,” he said. “There are… certain things. Things we do not say. Or, at least,” he corrected himself. “Things we have left unsaid up til now. Perhaps that was my mistake.”

“S’alright, angel.” The sound that came out of Crowley’s mouth was more a whimper than words, and Aziraphale rushed to finish explaining himself before it could shatter his heart entirely. 

“No, it isn’t,” he said. “And it’s my fault. I thought perhaps if I said it out loud, you’d feel somehow obligated to respond in turn, and I’d never want you to— Oh, Crowley.” He pressed a hand gently against Crowley’s shoulder, urging him to turn over. 

The demon rolled onto his side, looking up at him, and even through the glasses the heartache was clear. “I get it, Aziraphale. Sometimes you say things. I’m not really a _little cabbage_ , right? Things like that; they don’t have a literal meaning. It’s just something you say. And, anyway. Angels are meant to lo— Well, you’ve got to care about and have consideration for… everything, right? Just part of the job. So, when you look at it like that—”

“I love you, Crowley,” Aziraphale said. “So very much.” He said it clear and loud and steady. He watched Crowley, unblinking, to make sure he’d been heard. “You are the most beloved sight my eyes look upon every morning, and the most precious one they close upon every night. I love you. I love you. I love you.”

Crowley was staring up at him with his mouth open. 

“I am so sorry I've never said it so plainly before.”

“A-angel.”

“There are a thousand ways to say it without saying it, aren’t there?” Now that Aziraphale had started talking, he found he couldn’t stop. “And for so long, it would have been too dangerous to just say it in such straightforward terms. And I suppose I got so accustomed to our secret little language that I— well…”

“Aziraphale.”

“Maybe the message wasn’t always getting through as clearly as I thought it was, and maybe I’ve been too vague, and — oh darling, I am so sorry — I never meant to leave any question in your mind, of course I—”

“Angel.”

Aziraphale flinched, suddenly aware there were tears running down his face. 

Crowley’s hands rose to his glasses, sliding them off. His soft yellow eyes were wide, the pupils black and open. “I love you, too.”

They kissed, their ruddy wet cheeks smearing tears across their faces and making a mess of them both. Crowley threw his head back laughing, hanging off the edge of the couch. 

“For fuck’s sake,” he sighed. “We’re a couple of fucking saps, angel. What is wrong with us? Are you gonna fuck me, or what?”

“Oh,” Aziraphale said. “It’s certainly in my plans for the day, my love. Yes.”

Crowley bloomed red, glancing away, and slid the glasses back onto his nose. “Say again?” 

“You, my beloved one,” Aziraphale sighed, “are still entirely overdressed for this occasion.”

“Is that right?” Crowley squirmed playfully away, sliding down the angel’s lap toward the floor. 

Aziraphale’s hand trailed up Crowley’s inner thigh, toying with the edge of his silk pants. 

“Most certainly,” he cooed, soft thick fingers sliding into the wetness, making Crowley’s spine curve into an arc. “In fact, I may just clear my schedule and devote myself entirely to the task of removing this final, offensive little garment and taking you apart one orgasm at a time.”

Crowley sighed with pleasure, letting Aziraphale brace him between strong legs, inverted while the angel stroked him with slick fingers.   
  
“I love you, and I love you, and I love you, Crowley." He muttered the same three words over and over under his breath. "I’m afraid you may grow sick of my saying it, now.”

“Unlikely, angel.”

Still, knowing that he’d deprived Crowley of hearing it spoken aloud for so long, Aziraphale intended to make up for squandered opportunities wherever possible. He quickly lost count of how many times that simple little phrase whispered between them over the course of the evening, and was happier for it.  
  
\--  
END  
  
  
* mon petit chou: Literally French for "my little cabbage." A diminutive term of endearment, with similar meaning to "honey" or "sweetheart."

**Author's Note:**

> Writing has been pretty hard lately, friends. I needed something soft and tender to jump start my words again, so this happened. The idea in the show that Crowley and Aziraphale never have to say "I love you" out loud because they say it in so many other ways -- _Don't go unscrewing the cap. We can run away together. To the world._ \-- is honestly delightful to me and I love nothing better than finding ways in narrative to say "I love you" without literally saying, "I love you."
> 
> That being said. Crowley has especially always struck me as the type to roll over in bed one night and ask, "Do you like me? Like, do you LIKE ME, LIKE ME???" Leaving Aziraphale sputtering -- "CROWLEY, WE ARE MARRIED." Crowley, crying just a smidge: ".....is that a yes?" 
> 
> I think, once it's safer for them to do so, Crowley would just need that verbal affirmation sometimes. He's spent the last several thousand years feeling unloved and unworthy of love, and he wants his angel to SHOUT IT FROM THE ROOFTOPS. 
> 
> Also, there are a lot of "Aziraphale takes off Crowley's glasses" concepts out there, and I wanted to flip that on its head. I wanted to play with the idea of putting the glasses on instead. There is never anything wrong with needing security and we should always be respectful of both our own needs for comfort, and the needs of our partners. Aziraphale would never invalidate that need, and I thought this was a nice opportunity to demonstrate that. (Of course, I love the 'take the glasses off' trope too, but there should always be, say it with me -- consent, consent, consent! :D
> 
> Anyway, that was my reasoning behind this. Hope you enjoyed it! 
> 
> If you want to keep up with me, you can always go follow me on [Twitter](http://twitter.com/itseljayvaughn/), where I post about my original work and general life stuff. For fandom-related content, please check me out on [Tumblr](http://vgersix.tumblr.com/). 
> 
> Much love,  
> v'ger


End file.
